Sport has been seldom been more cathartic or so gloriously improbable. With a
second Open triumph that left the patrons of Royal Lytham open-jawed in
incredulity, Ernie Els cemented his restoration from the dead men of golf.

All eyes on Ernie: Els plays a shot from the edge of the third fairwayPhoto: AP

In a beautifully measured winner’s speech that encompassed everything from his family life to Nelson Mandela, the tranquil South African admitted that he felt a little numb, and he was far from the only one.

Deep into the night at his ranch in Herolds Bay, on the Garden Route, the bottles of his own-brand sauvignon blanc were being uncorked. At his flat in London, wife Liezel and their children, Ben and Samantha, were preparing to toast the champion. But nowhere could the popularity of Els’s victory be sensed more palpably than here, where he was glad-handed at every turn by passing punters, before a press conference that reporters tripped over themselves to gatecrash.

'The Big Easy’ has long been Els’s sobriquet, capturing his rolling gait and apparently nonexistent pulse in the crucible of major championship combat. It crystallises, too, the liquid elegance of his swing. If Adam Scott, vanquished so cruelly, happens to possess one of the most rhythmic actions in the game, then that of Els is just slightly smoother.

It is destined to be remembered as one of the most beguilingly fluid motions in sport, on a par with Roger Federer’s backhand or the cover drives of David Gower. And not once during his final round of 68 did this impression of effortless grace threaten to slip.

Els barrelled through the field like a freight train, scattering his rivals by virtue of his brilliance under pressure and of his own superior aesthetics. Could it really have been a decade since he last hoisted the Claret Jug at Troon? It rarely seemed like it as the 42 year-old carved out a serene path to victory, exhibiting the type of sedated state associated more with the seaside donkeys that ply this section of Blackpool coast.

But no one expected this. Not even his most fervent disciples could have dared argue that he had still had it within him to win an Open from five shots back on Sunday, but perhaps they should have consulted the man himself. Els had forecast before this tournament began that “something special” could happen, and he elicited nothing more than gentle amusement among commentators.

This was a man at an impasse in his career, having missed the cut in four of his last seven majors. He had failed to qualify for the Masters for the first time in 20 years. Take a look, though, at who is laughing now.

Els can boast not simply of a five-year exemption into the majors but of a rich and unexpected renaissance in the autumn of his playing days. The transition has not come about by accident; indeed, there is scarcely a golfer on the circuit with a fiercer dedication to self-improvement. With a deft combination of the old and the new, he has completed the most extraordinary recovery. Els has enlisted the assistance of Claude Harmon, son of Butch, to derive maximum benefit from his swing’s flawless mechanics.

He has turned to Dr Sherylle Calder, from the Sports Science Institute of Chicago, to help his composure on the greens and to wean him off his dependence on the belly putter. But he has also reinstated more familiar members of his entourage, not least long-time caddie Ricky Roberts.

It was in his putting that the starkest difference was seen. In Tampa in March, he had looked a husk of his affable self after missing a four-footer to prevail at the Transitions Championship. on Sunday evening he drained a 12-footer on the 18th green to win the Open. This was the Els of yore, blessed with serenity under strain, victorious at US Opens in the Nineties.

His back nine of 32, featuring four birdies, was possibly the best he had ever played. As he collected a fourth major title to set him alongside Phil Mickelson among the game’s greats, one could but marvel that he had won the first as long ago as 1994. Eighteen years of major-winning form represented Nicklaus-esque longevity.

When he headed to the putting green, in anticipation of a play-off with Scott, Els said: “I thought, 'I’ll probably be disappointed again’. So many times I have waited on a play-off. You hope that you can win outright.”

Suddenly, and faintly miraculously, his wish was granted. “It’s the nature of the beast,” he reflected. “You win, you lose, and it was my time again. I always believed I had another one in me. I guess I just proved it.” That he emphatically did.